


Artifice

by vivisuu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aristocracy, F/M, Reader has a potty mouth, aristocracy au, kind of, kinda arranged marriage in a sense??? ish, she swears a bit, so foul language beware
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisuu/pseuds/vivisuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a fact that scandal and subterfuge run rampant through higher society. With your arranged marriage to Oikawa Tooru, you sure as hell aren't exempt from that rule.</p><p>oikawa x reader | aristocracy!au | ongoing series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clandestine

**Author's Note:**

> this is an aristocracy!au (for lack of a better term), where oiks and you are aristocrats in some sort of posh society. vesper is just your random friend (i like the name and also casino royale tho) 
> 
> i dont own haikyuu!! or oikawa (sadly), but i do own this plot and my writing! enjoy!~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own anything but the plot and my writing! enjoy~

            “I hear there’s a special guest tonight.”

            You turn to look at the suave voice, a wispy sound floating through the air to grace your ears. The woman regards you with a tilt of her head, a narrowing of her sepia eyes, a thin smirk upon her pomegranate lips. Her tawny tresses fall to the side on her shoulder as she raises a champagne flute towards you.

            “Cheers,” you murmur as you hold up your identical glass and knock the rim of it to hers. You lean on the balcony rail and stare out over the party guests, tugging at your masquerade mask with lax hands and tightening the strap that keeps it close to your face and around your head.

            “Some say it’s Tooru Oikawa.”

            You almost choke on the sparkling wine as you stare at your friend. “ _The_ Tooru Oikawa? What does he want?”

            “Don’t ask me why he’s at your party. People just come.”

            “Do the bouncers here not check the invitation list? I need better security control. I sure as hell didn’t invite him.” You scowl as you bite your lip, staring out over the crowd of guests on the floor below the two of you on the balcony.

            A sea of muted, tasteful dresses – swatches of evergreen, frost, cantaloupe, blush, sapphire, merlot – seeps in with the salt-and-pepper crowd of tuxedos. Only visible are the crowns of their heads – blonde, ginger, brunette, black – and the masks they carry with them, all matching their respective dresses or tuxes. They mill about the room, creating polite conversation with each other in lowered voices as their eyes wander the vaulted ceilings and sleek wood-paneled floors. A few couples decide to dance in time to the live music, their steps graceful and reserved as they waltz.

          Outside, the classic blue is smeared with vermilion paint, tinges of deep orange and saffron tainting the elongated fingers of soft clouds. It paints the depths of the river running adjacent to the ballroom a bloody red, the reflections of the bridge and bank dancing and shimmering in the failing light.

            “Hey,” you whisper, nudging Vesper with your elbow. “That guy hasn’t stopped staring at me.” You tilt your champagne glass at the man below while watching the bubbles rise in the pale golden aphrodisiac in your flute. Selecting a canapé from the porcelain platter a passing waiter carries, you pop it into your mouth and chew thoughtfully before looking back down – only to see that he’s disappeared.

            “He’s coming up the stairs,” she mutters, knocking back her champagne before depositing the empty container on a waiter’s tray and picking up another full glass. Her eyes narrow over the rim of her cup at the approaching figure sauntering over. “Keep your mask up and don’t make eye contact. Let’s see what he wants.” She takes a sip of the chardonnay, leaving an alizarin stain on the crystal.

    Looking through the arch windows, the sky is tinted a deep indigo, faint dabs of cotton candy pink and pastel blue clinging to the final vestiges of light. A small expanse of black dotted with flickering stars is visible through a gap in the cloud covering; the moon hangs precariously in the sky, a pale circle casting an off-white light on its surrounding area. The chandeliers overhead flicker on, their soft golden glow illuminating the area and casting fairy lighting upon all the guests.

            “My lady,” his smooth, velvety timbre rings out, cutting through the thick veil of music separating us from the rest of the guests. “Might I have this dance?” He bows elegantly and extends a hand to you, splaying his fingers out in an open invitation.

            His aquamarine mask sits low on his nose, catching the twinkling lights shining overhead. His eyes, a brown so dark they swirl with unfathomable inky depths, reflect the quiet dusk outside; the glimmering lights of the diamond chandelier overhead illuminate his sharp features and his lips, pulled into his trademark erudite smile. The male casts his gaze at you, his fringe of brown falling over his diamond-studded disguise.

            Dressed in a spotless white tuxedo, ironed and creased at all the appropriate places, an aquamarine bow tie rests on his collarbone. He cocks his head as he peers into your face. “You’re…”

            “Enchanted to meet you,” you murmur, cutting off his words as you press your hand into his and pass your flute of champagne to your friend. “Vesper, do watch the party from here for me, will you?” You glance at her as the mysterious stranger leads you down the stairs, his arm wrapped around your waist and his hand clasping yours firmly.

            As you come down the stairs, you notice the alabaster tablecloths ironed to never crease and smoothed to perfection covering the round tables, small islands dotting the vibrant sea of velvet, silk, and satin. Dark centerpieces of inky roses and pearly baby’s breath sit in translucent crystal vases at each table. Windows mounted in black mahogany frames allow the dying rays of the setting sun to stream inwards. Muted carmine ribbons are pinned to the walls at even intervals, hanging in streaks of red that contrast sharply with the Houndstooth wallpaper.

            He leads you out onto the dance floor, where you intermingle with the other couples dancing and twirling. “What’s your name?”

            “That’s a secret,” you reply, your eyes flicking up to scan his before you return your gaze to his lapels – they’re peaked, providing a lovely accompaniment to his aquamarine-buttoned, white wing collar shirt peeking out from under his tuxedo. “Yours?”

            “Oikawa,” comes his flirty response. “You’re quite a lovely dancer, Miss Stranger.”

            “As are you,” you murmur as you try to stay calm, locking eyes with the male in front of you. “What are you here for?”

            “The party,” he says, dipping you before continuing the waltz. “Do you know a girl named (First Name/Last Name)? I’m here to see her.”

            “How courteous of you, speaking of another woman while I’m right here. You’re quite the charmer.”

            “So I’m told,” he smirks. “You know her, then?”

            “Of course. What do you want with her?”

            “I’m to become her fiancé.”

            “Oh, of your own free will?” Your eyes flash as your mind swirls. _Engaged? Father never said anything about that. And to Tooru Oikawa, of all people._

“Relax your hand a bit, will you, pretty lady?” He winces and you step back a bit, relinquishing his hand as you pull him off the dance floor and over near a wall.

            “My apologies,” you murmur as you grab another flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and glance at the bubbling liquid. Oikawa does the same. “But sir, I’ve heard a lot about this (First Name/Last Name).”

            “And?” He leans forwards, leering at you.

            “She’s a harlot.” You take a sip of the golden ambrosia and close your eyes, trying to ignore his sharp gaze. “She sleeps around with men, she doesn’t care about inheriting her father’s company, and she’s an imbecile when it comes to basic life skills.”

            “Oh?” The male comes closer to you and you step back a bit.

            “Yeah. I would recommend you steer clear of that Jezebel, since you _are_ the distinguished Tooru Oikawa, are you not? She would ruin you.” You knock down the rest of the sparkling wine and place the empty glass on another passing waiter’s tray. A vermilion stain is left on the crystal from your lipstick.

            “And why are you tarnishing your _own_ image now, dear (First Name)?” Oikawa cocks his head at you and you freeze in his arms.

            “What are you talking about? I’m not (First Name),” you manage to stutter out, biting your tongue at the quick denial as you internally berate yourself. _Very convincing, (First Name). You should become a lawyer. ‘Your Honor, my client is not guilty, so the defense rests its case.’_

            “Of course you’re not, and Gatsby wasn’t garishly gaudy.” He smirks at you and drinks a bit of his champagne before discarding the flute. “But he _was_ flashy, and you _are_ (First Name).” The brunet presses you against the wall, his arms and legs boxing you in so that you can’t escape. He lifts your chin up, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaws and ghosting over your dolled-up lips. His digits graze over your cheek, dusted red with rouge, before he cups it with one hand; his other hand takes hold of your two wrists, pinning them against the wall above your head. His eyes, leering and concupiscent, settle on yours and his lips part slightly as he nears your own.

            The music dims in the background and your breath hitches in your throat as you try to melt into the Houndstooth wallpaper decorating the walls, but that option is to no avail. You’re suddenly painfully aware of the airy, lilting scents of chardonnay and overpowering cologne filling the room as delicate laughter and deep, throaty chuckles echo emptily off the walls of the grand ballroom. Your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, your lips trembling as his fingertips trace their penciled outline. “What do you want?”

            “I wanted to talk with you.”

            “Wanted?”

            “Past tense. Now that I’ve met you, however, I’m intrigued.”

            “I’m not looking for a fiancé,” you sniff, turning your head so that your cheek faces Oikawa.

            He presses his lips to your collarbone and a shiver runs down your spine; you close your eyes for a second as you bite your lip, pearly canine gnawing on soft ruby flesh. You can feel his lips moving against your bared skin as he responds, “I can tell.”

            You flinch as he bites at your exposed skin, then tremble as he releases it; the cold air surrounding you rushes in to cover the heated spot almost immediately. “What are you so intrigued about?”

            “What are you hiding?” He leans in close, his nose brushing yours as his lips leave very little space between the two of you.

            “Why would I be hiding anything?”

            “You hid who you were to begin with.”

            “Did you consider the idea that it might have something to do with the fact that you’re Tooru Oikawa?”

            “Why would you hide from me, doll?” He presses his lips to the other side of you neck, tracing a wavering line up to your earlobe, which he kisses.

            “Your actions prove my point exactly,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “You’re a player, and you never say anything truthfully. I don’t wish to associate myself with you.”

    He withdraws from your neck and stares at you. “So you’re calling me a liar?”

            “To put it bluntly, yes.”

            His eyes glint. “Lovely. Glad we’re on the same page. Now, can we get down to business?”

            “What sort of business do you want to discuss? Unhand me right now, and we can talk about it in a civil manner. None of these lewd actions.”

            “Wouldn’t you agree that this is quite civil, though, (First Name)?” Oikawa smirks at you. “I wish to converse about private affairs. Isn’t this the perfect place to do it?”

            You shiver under his sharp gaze. “Hardly. Anybody can overhear us.”

            “Take a look around,” he murmurs. “Everybody is busy dancing, talking, drinking. Nobody will pay attention… and if they do notice us, they’ll think we’re just lovers having a grand ol’ time. We have masks on, do we not? This _is_ a masquerade party, isn’t it?”

            You gag at the thought of being lovers with the brunet. “Then what do you want?”

            He leans in close. You can smell the cologne wafting off of him, tantalizingly erotic hints of French jasmine, black truffle, and black currant accented with citrus and woody notes, all invading your senses and sending your head spinning.

            As your whirling vision steadies itself, you realize how close Oikawa is to you. His lips are mere millimeters away from yours, and you are suddenly able to study his bottomless taupe eyes, murky and stormy like an ocean during a hurricane.

             “I want you,” comes his suave reply as he presses his lips to yours.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be harsh with me! I'd love to hear/know your reactions to this piece c: Leave me a kudos or a bookmark on this tale if you liked it~
> 
> Hit me up with a comment to let me know if you're excited for the next part -- if I know people like this story, that motivates me to update even faster!


	2. Expedient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i've resuscitated from the dead lmao sorry for the long wait!! i promise you, it's worth it (hopefully) ~ 
> 
> Please go back and reread chapter one of artiifce (if you haven't already) to refresh your memory of what's happened thus far between oikawa and reader! There has been some delay between the first chapter and this part, so this is to ensure that you get the maximum experience out of this newest installment in the series. 
> 
> i don't own anything but the plot and my own writing so enjoy, guys!

            Oikawa’s lips are hot and firm on yours as he leans further into the kiss. His body wraps itself around yours as you clench your eyes shut, brows furrowing as you push against his chest in a futile effort to get him off of you. You can’t seem to be able to breathe, and your head is spinning in time to your crazed heartbeat. 

            “Ahem,” coughs a feminine voice, the sound cutting through your oxygen-deprived haze. “What are we up to here? Can I join in?” 

            The pressure on your lips is relieved and you open your eyes slowly to see Vesper watching the two of you, her lips quirked in skepticism. 

            “I’m sorry, my lady, this is a private event for two only,” Oikawa murmurs as he eases off of you. He rests his weight on his hind foot, running a hand through his sepia tresses as he gazes at your friend, displeased at being interrupted. 

            “Yes, well, if I can’t take part, then I must steal (First Name) from you. I have some urgent business to discuss with her –feminine issues, really.” 

            You raise your eyebrows at her words but say nothing. 

            “Is that so?” Oikawa throws a casual side glance at your best friend but says nothing further, instead opting to turn his gaze to you. 

            His long fingers graze your collarbone and dance their way up your neck to rest on your jawline, where he lightly flicks your chin with a lazily extended, nonchalant digit. You’re only too aware of how close he’s standing to you, and too aware of his tongue sneaking in between his lips, tantalizing you with its slow movements. Oikawa notices this and licks his lips, watching your pupils follow its every movement.

            “We’ll finish this later,” he murmurs as he lifts his fingers from your chin and smirks at you, and you rip your eyes away from his mouth to watch him as he leaves. He raises a hand over his shoulder in casual goodbye as he walks away, disappearing into the ocean of jeweled dresses and monochrome suits. 

            Vesper and you watch him leave, and you collapse against the wall, pressing an arm to cover your eyes as you close your eyes.

            “Well, that was something,” Vesper remarks. She glances over at you. “Why’re you blushing? Did you fall for him?” 

            You raise your arm to shoot her a glare. “I’m blushing because that was extremely humiliating. I can’t believe I let him get to me like that, that I let him take advantage of me like that! God, Vesper, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

            “It’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself – blame that bastard,” Vesper sighs, placing a hand on her hip as she looks at you. “C’mon, let’s go. Let’s get out of here – I need some fresh air, and I think you do too.” 

            She grabs you by the arm and practically drags you out of the lavish ballroom, into the hallway, and out the door of the establishment to stand on a balcony overlooking the river next door. The sky is dark, a pale sliver of lackluster silver slicing through the thick cloud cover. There are no stars to be seen, and the dripping railings are shiny and cool to the touch. A chill breeze blows through the small veranda, but it’s a welcome change from the heat of the bodies pressed together like aristocratic sardines in a can back in the ballroom.

            Vesper pulls out a lighter and a small pack of cigarettes from who-knows-where, shaking the box as she offers you one and takes one out for herself.

                    “After what just happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if you changed your mind,” she shrugs, taking a drag and exhaling dull curls of wispy smoke into the still night air. You can see the raindrops cutting through the swirling cloud, dispelling the toxic chemicals into the surrounding air.

            Vesper leans against the railing, her arms hanging off the edge of the banister as she extends a hand to feel the frigid falling rain. You stand a ways off, dry under the roof of the balcony. 

            “It would do you good to stay away from a man like him, (First Name).” 

            “I know. He’s a player, isn’t he? He has a trail of broken hearts behind him.”

            “Not just that.” Vesper takes another whiff of her cancer stick, inhaling deeply. “He’s the CEO of a well-known stocks company, and he’s ruthless.”

            “How so?”

            Vesper exhales slowly. You watch her cigarette smoke leave her lips, her warm breath coiling and dissipating into cool nothingness. “He’s willing to work himself to the bone for his company. He’s as dedicated as they come, and he puts work above all else. I’ve heard that he has a terrible temper, but that may just be rumor and nothing more.” She holds the cigarette between her pointer and her middle finger, taking the stick out of her mouth and letting her forearm fall forward.  

            “Isn’t that a good thing though, to be committed to work? Most people are afraid of commitment,” you mention offhandedly, pressing your body against the railing as you raise a hand to the wet sky. The cool rain is a welcome oasis to your heated skin, still hot after your encounter with the flirtatious brunet. You shudder at the mere memory of the moment in the ballroom.

            “It’s overly excessive with him.” She waves the cigarette in your direction and brings it to her mouth, breathing out small puffs of smoke. “He has inferiority issues. You know Tobio Kageyama?” 

            “The guy in charge of that new start-up stock-tech hybrid company? The really tall one who looks like he would murder everybody if he could?” 

            “Yeah, him. I heard that they were friends long ago but not anymore, and that Kageyama is a natural at stocks and tech. Apparently Oikawa is intimidated by him.” 

            “How do you know that?” You grip the railing and lean back a little, letting the rain run down your face and soak you to the core.

            Vesper waves her cigarette in the air, drawing a fleeting, smoky figure eight into the sky. It’s almost immediately dashed into thin strips of haze by the chilling bullets from the sky. “I’m just telling you what I heard. Sleep with one eye open, if you will.” 

            “So he’s willing to do anything for his company to keep it afloat and he’s competitive with Kageyama. Anything else I should know?”

            “He’s not just competitive, see, (First Name), it’s more like he has a bit of an inferiority complex.” 

            You sigh, stretching your arms to the sky. “So he works hard to keep up with Kageyama because he feels inferior.”

            “Oikawa wants to be the best, but he’s just not talented enough, so he works his fingers to the bone to make up for it. Kageyama’s brimming with untapped potential that makes it so much easier for him to reach the top. His stock-tech hybrid is new and budding, but he’s already attracted huge investors, and lots of them.” 

            “I almost feel sorry for Oikawa,” you mutter. “Almost.”

            Vesper looks at you out of the corner of her eye, cocking her head to silently coax you to go on.

            You oblige her. “But maybe that’s why he plays around with women so much, huh? Because love – or his cheap, faux variation thereof – is the only game he can win in, because he can’t ever beat Kageyama in the stock game. That’s hilarious.” You let out a short bark of a laugh as you slump over the wet railing, feeling the water seep through the thin material of your dress. 

            Vesper glances at you but says nothing as she presses the cigarette into the railing, extinguishing the embers and dropping the butt into a nearby trashcan.

            You raise your face to the sky. “How can father expect me to marry that bastard?! The first thing he does when he sees me is kiss me – that’s sexual harassment right there! And how does he know what I look like? I had a mask on! What the fuck? How could he know?”

            “Maybe he stalks you.”

            “In all honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. What a creep!”

\--

            “Hello, how may I help you?” The receptionist at the front desk sniffs at you, looking you up and down as she appraises you.

            “I’m here to speak to Tooru Oikawa,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest as you glare at everything in the waiting room. 

            “Do you have an appointment with him, Miss……?” 

            “(First Name). Trust me, he’ll want to see me.” 

            “If you do not have an appointment, I will have to ask you to return with one at a later date. Mr. Oikawa is a very busy man, as I’m sure you know,” she sneers.

            “I am a busy woman as well,” you hiss at her. “If you refuse to call him, I will go in myself.”

            “Miss—what was it again? Well, whatever. In that case, if you refuse to leave politely, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises or else I shall have security escort you out.” 

            You’re fuming by this point and you’re about to make a snazzy comeback when a suave voice interrupts the conversation. 

            “What seems to be the problem here, ladies?” 

            “Oh, nothing much, Mr. Oikawa, sir,” the receptionist smiles. 

             _A complete 180! What a woman._ You turn smartly on your heel to stare at the stock CEO, resting a hand on your hip as you frown at the cocky male. “Your receptionist here refuses to allow me a meeting with you.” 

            The brunet raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing. “Come in, (First Name). Don’t stand there gawking – it makes you look like a bird.” 

            The clerk rises almost immediately. “But sir, your schedule—! There is no time for you to meet with, with  _her!”_  She throws a look of disgust at you. 

            “Watch how you speak to and about my fiancée,” he murmurs as he waves her off, pressing a hand to the small of your back and guiding you into a private meeting room. 

            “Apologies about my secretary; she gets like that sometimes. What are you here for, (First Name)?” He sits in a chair and leans forward, resting his arms on the sleek glass table as his fingers form a steeple. He looks you over and a sly smile tugs at his lips. “Are you back to continue where we left off the other night at the party?”

            You gag at his words. “Absolutely not. I need to talk to you about this ‘arranged marriage’ of ours.” 

            “Oh? The wedding’s in about a year or so. Do you want to move it to a closer time? I’m sure any venue that’s suitable for us would accommodate us accordingly,” he smirks. “Care for something to drink?” He rises, making his way over to a paneled wooden cabinet; pulling out a tempered glass and a bottle of whiskey, he pours the amber liquid in and raises it towards you, lips quirked. 

            “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m not here to become your drinking buddy, and I sure as hell am not going to discuss marriage dates with you. I refuse to marry you.”

            He sits back down across from you. A shadow falls across his face at your words and his eyes narrow as he looks at you over the brim of his glass, taking a sip of the burning alcohol. “Oh? Why is that so?” 

            “You’re a lying bastard. There’s no way this is a legitimate affair, and Father hasn’t told me anything, either.” 

                him about it yourself, instead of insulting your fiancé?” 

            “That’s so very funny. If this is a joke to you, call it off because I’m not laughing.” 

            Oikawa raises his glass to you and takes a drink, knocking the rest of the fiery whiskey down in one go. “To your health.” 

            “I don’t need your empty toasts.” 

            “I know we established that I lie quite a bit at the party the other night, but I don’t fabricate false truths when it comes to this sort of thing. Do you think I actually _want_ to marry you? Don’t flatter yourself.” He scoffs and his words are biting as he sets the glass down, a loud  _clink_ resounding throughout the room as silence falls upon the two of you. 

            “Why would Father want me to marry you, of all people? Your playboy reputation precedes you. Surely he knows that.”

            “You’re still stuck on that? Go ask him yourself. Maybe it has something to do with his company being in the red.” 

            You freeze at his words.  _Father’s in the red? Since when? If he’s really in such trouble, why would he tell Oikawa, of all people, and not me? Am I not capable?_

            “I need more alcohol.” The brunet stands, pours himself another glass, and sits down in a plush leather chair again. He takes a gulp of whiskey and swallows, eyeing you all the while. 

            “Who in their right mind would want to marry you?” you manage to hiss out through gritted teeth.

            “My company is thriving. Why not me?” He tilts his glass in your direction, throwing a smirk your way as well.

            You stand abruptly and make your way to the door. “Since I can’t get a straight answer out of you, I’m leaving.”

            “You won’t go without having a drink with me first, would you?” 

            “I don’t get it. What did Father ever see in you?” You say the words apathetically. “There are plenty of men in the world who are far better than the likes of you, who can help Father more. Hell, even that rookie Tobio Kageyama is more capable than you.” 

            It’s a low blow and you know it, but if he wants to play that sort of game, so will you. You push open the door and are about to step out when his voice stops you. 

            “You don’t know me, so don’t talk as if you do.”

            “You’re right, I don’t know you,” you mutter, mincing your words as you stare out his office door into the hall, your back to him. “And I don’t plan on  _getting_  to know you. I hope this is the last we’ll see of each other. Goodbye, Mr. Oikawa.” 

\--

            You make your way to your father’s office, high heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floors as you briskly push past people and walk by his secretary. She nods at you as she buzzes you in. 

            You pause before a set of wooden double doors, raise a hand, and knock. “Father, it’s me.” 

            “Come in.” 

            The doors sway open and you hesitantly step into his office; the wooden doors swing closed behind you with a loud  _thud._

            “Father, might I ask you some questions?” You stand before your father, leaning on your left foot as you cross your arms across your chest, scowling.

            “Of course, my dear,” he murmurs as he leans back in his chair. 

            “Am I really engaged to Tooru Oikawa?”

            He sighs and leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Yes. I was going to tell you soon, but I guess you heard about it earlier than I thought you would.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? And why him, of all people?” Your lip curls as you shudder.

            Your father sighs. “I haven’t spoken much about the company finances with you, (First Name), but you have a right to know. Luxury sports cars are not selling well this year – they’re hardly a commodity – and our company Laesia will be in big trouble if we don’t do something soon.

            “Oikawa is a capable young man, (First Name). He’ll take good care of you.” He slumps back in his chair, running a hand through his thinning hair.

            “I don’t need anybody to take care of me, much less that disgusting playboy. I can run the company just fine by myself. I want to be involved, Father, if only you’d let me.” 

            “Of course, of course. But at this point in time, he’s really the only one we can turn to. And we need to pay him back somehow for his help, don’t we? We were – and still somewhat are– in trouble, and without him, we would be done for. Please try to understand this from a business standpoint, dear.”  

            “Of course,” you murmur, ducking your head as you bite your lip, eyes narrowing as you stare at the Persian-carpeted floor.

            The phone resting on your father’s desk rings a bit, and he reaches over to answer it. “Hello, this is (Father’s First Name / Last Name). Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” 

            You cock an eyebrow at your father, whose expression goes from one of complacent neutrality to surprise, then to one of business-grade, well-contained excitement. 

            “Oh, hello! How are you doing?” He nods. “Wonderful myself, thank you. What is the matter?” Your father glances over at you. “Yes, she’s here – you have good timing! Would you like to speak with her?” 

            He holds the receiver out to you, gesturing for you to take it. You do so and step a respectful distance away from your father’s desk. 

            “Hello?” 

            “Ah, (First Name), how absolutely wonderful to speak to you again today,” a soft purr comes from the other side of the line. That rich warm timbre, practically oozing with confidence and borderline arrogance… 

            “Oikawa?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be harsh with me! I'd love to hear/know your reactions to this piece c: Leave me a kudos or a bookmark on this tale if you liked it~
> 
> Hit me up with a comment to let me know if you're excited for the next part -- if I know people like this story, that motivates me to update even faster!


	3. Surreptitious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this story was abandoned for so long sorry guys
> 
> anyways, please go back and reread chapter two of artiifce (if you haven't already) to refresh your memory of what's happened thus far between oikawa and reader! this'll help to maximize your experience of reading this chapter, esp since there's been some *unfortunate* delays with getting this third part out there lol 
> 
> i don't own anything but the plot and my own writing so enjoy, guys!

**Chapter Three:** **Surreptitious**

            “Oikawa, the one and only, at your service.” 

            You turn away from your father so he can’t see the disgusted scowl that adorns your countenance. “What do you want?” 

            “You’re not cursing at me? This is new,” he murmurs. You can practically hear the condescending smirk in his voice. 

            “Get on with it.”

            He chuckles, the laughter sounding like melted bronze and smooth saxophone notes. “I was wondering what kind of flowers you liked so I could get you matching lingerie for our wedding night.”

            You pause to process his words, and you falter for a moment. “Excuse me?”

            “What kind of flowers would you like for our room? I’m buying you matching lingerie.”

            You’re sputtering at this point, and you’re glad that your back is to your father so that he can’t see your face slowly flushing red. Biting your tongue, you try to resist the urge to call your fiancé every foul name in the book and then some.

            “I was thinking a nice, deep crimson red,” he drawls, his dulcet tones syrupy smooth and sickly sweet, accentuated by the sound of ice clinking in a glass on the other side. “It’d complement your skin tone well.”

            “I’d love to stay and chat with you about our wedding, but I have a meeting to go to.” You press the “hang up” button and slam the phone receiver down on the cherry wood desk, hearing the hollow sound echo throughout your father’s chilly office.

            “(First Name)! Don’t be rude to your fiancé.” Your father tuts and shakes his head, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Remember what he’s doing for us.”

            You try to keep your lip from curling at the mere mention of a certain brunet. “My deepest apologies, Father. I’m still a bit shocked over the announcement of the marriage, so if you would excuse me for a moment…” You bow to your father, keeping your eyes downcast on the floor as you turn to leave.

            Your heels clack on the wood paneling and you can see the harsh glare of the overhead lights reflected on the shiny black cherry flooring. Nodding to your father’s receptionist, your phone rings just as you walk through the automatic doors towards the bustling city street.

            Glancing at your phone screen, you don’t recognize the number but accept the call anyways. “Hello?”

            “You never answered me.”

            “Excuse me, who is this?” You round a corner and pause at a busy intersection, watching the cars zip by. You already recognize the silky voice but hope that it’s not who you think it is.

            “What color flowers? I really do recommend a deep crimson red. It does wonders for anybody’s skin tone, but it would look particularly flattering on you.”

            “I can’t believe that you’re saying this to me.” A car honks and you begin to cross the road, merging into the flow of people and leisurely strolling pedestrians.

            “If you don’t have a preference, then let’s determine the material first. Would you prefer lace, ribbon, or something else…?”

            “I’m not wearing anything you buy for me, you perverted bastard.”

            “The wedding’s in two months. I suggest you not call me foul names and that we get along pleasantly, (First Name), if not just for your father’s sake.”

            “Oh, you’re such a liar. There’s no way the wedding is in two months. That’s too short-notice.”

            “I do think you’re a bit spunky, but maybe leather would be too much. Well, we can decide this later. I do recommend crimson, though.”

            “This is sexual harassment.” You hang up, leaving Oikawa to discuss his fantasies and preferences with the monotonous dial tone.

**-**

            “(First Name), come down for dinner!”

            “Coming!” You make your way down the stairs and to the dining table, where a simple but elegant table setting is laid out.

            “They prepared a gourmet Hudson Valley Moulard Duck Foie Gras for us tonight!” Your mother nods at the chef standing by the table, who smiles at her in return. Your father sits at the head of the table, and you take a seat across from your mother at the long dining table.

            “Bring out the first course, please.”

            The chef bows in response to your father’s words and leaves the room, returning with three plates elegantly designed and decorated with choice morsels that seem to shimmer like a mirage under the muted chandelier lighting. You can smell the savory umami of the opening appetizer, and your mouth begins to water.

**-**

            You lay your fork down by your porcelain plate, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. “That was lovely.”

            Your father nods in agreement. “The chef really outdid himself today, didn’t he? Absolutely splendid. Let’s rest a bit before dessert, shall we? I have something I’d like to discuss something with the whole family.”

            Your mother’s voice rings out from across the table, “Oh, what’s it about, darling?” 

            You stiffen, anticipating the topic of conversation, and cough into your napkin. “I’m not feeling too well right now – I might have eaten too much. If you’ll excuse me.” You stand up quickly, silverware clattering to the floor as you avoid your parents’ gazes and stare at the floor.

            “Our (First Name) is engaged to Tooru Oikawa.”

            _Well, there it is. Thanks, Father._  

            “Engaged, as in marriage?” Your mother stares at your father, mouth agape. “Darling, (First Name) is only 21 – isn’t it a bit too early for marriage?”

            You nod at your mother and begin to walk out of the dining room.

            “We were married when you were 21!” Your father laughs. “Besides, it’s the deal that Tooru is cutting for us. We’d be utter fools not to take it. He suggested the marriage, anyway – he was rather interested in (First Name).”

            Your lip curls as your father continues to talk, but what he says next stops you in your tracks.

            “Oh, the wedding’s in two months.”

            Your face blanches.

            “(First Name), can you come back for a second?”

            You turn slowly. “What is it, Father?”

            “I want you to meet with Oikawa to determine the wedding details tomorrow. He’s quite a gentleman, volunteering to take time out of his busy schedule to plan the wedding together with you. Please be on your best behavior.”

            “Don’t be too on-edge! Just relax – he likes you, doesn’t he? Or he wouldn’t have requested to marry you,” your mother laughs. “I do think it’s a bit early for a marriage, but so long as you’re happy, I think I’m okay with it. I hope you feel better, honey. If you need anything, ring for a servant.”

            _I never said I was happy with the decision._ “Of course, Mother. I’d be delighted to marry him. The first meeting was a bit rocky, but he’s really rather charismatic. I think we’d get along wonderfully.” You cringe at the complete bullshit spewing from your lips, and you hope that your parents can’t tell that you’re lying through your teeth.

            “The car will take you to his company building tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late, (First Name)!” Your father smiles at you.

            You clutch your stomach. “I think I really feel sick right now.”

**-**

            You stand in front of Oikawa’s company headquarters, tugging at the sleeve of your inky silk blazer and pulling at the ruffles of your pearly dress shirt underneath. A strong gust of wind almost knocks you over, and the sky is ominously dark, threatening to pour with fat raindrops. You raise your head to stare at the clouds and look for the sun, but it’s to no avail.

            “Do you need an invitation to go inside?”

            “Excuse me?” You turn to look at the speaker, but immediately scowl.

            “I’ll take that as a yes. Miss (First Name/Last Name), I, Tooru Oikawa, would like to invite you inside to discuss an important piece of business with you.” He bows low, bending fully at the waist as he gives a twirl of his hand, adding to his extravagant gesture with an overdone and unnecessary flourish.

            You glare at his sepia tresses bouncing up and down as he raises his head to glance at you, a smirk dancing on his lips. Thunder sounds in the distance, loud drumbeats breaking through the humid haze of the pre-storm moment.

            “(First Name), the polite thing to do in this situation is to accept my invitation,” he murmurs, his voice almost inaudible due to the crowd of people walking around the two of you. “People are staring, and while I appreciate the attention, I would like a response.”

            Shaking your head, you walk into the building, leaving the brunet behind. Passing by the receptionist’s desk, you scowl at her as well as you make your way down the hall, towards the room you had previously met your fiancé in.

            “(First Name), the elevator’s over here,” Oikawa purrs. “We’re not using a private meeting room – this time, you’re coming to my office.”

            You flinch, turn smartly on your heel, and walk briskly towards the brunet, who holds the elevator door open for you. He presses the button for the 50th floor and smiles as you as the door closes and the two of you are trapped together in the claustrophobic metal box hurtling up 50 floors.

            When the door opens, you practically stumble out of the elevator. Oikawa follows and rests a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards his office door – the only door on the floor. A shiver runs up and down your spine and you resist the urge to shudder at his light touch.

            Once inside the office, Oikawa takes out two crystal glasses and a chilled champagne bottle.

            “Chardonnay.” He tilts his head at you and pours you a flute of the bubbling alcohol, offering it to you. You take it with trembling fingers, gripping it lightly and placing it on a table.  

            “Please, sit,” he nods, gesturing at the plush chairs next to you. “Drink. It’s from the best vineyards in Burgundy, flown in from France.”

            You narrow your eyes as you perch on the edge of the leather sofa. “I’m not a fan of alcohol.” You gaze around his office; the sun shines in through a large arched window and reflects lamely off the dark wood-paneled flooring. The air is cold blowing in from the air vents surrounding you, and you take a look around his sparsely-furnished office. It’s rather minimalistic, with a simple desk, a filing cabinet, and a tall, sleek wooden bookshelf filled with books and papers. A closed laptop sits on his desk and an unobtrusive lamp accompanies it.

            “You’ll not regret it – this is rather delicate. It has a creamy nuttiness to it, with soft floral notes and a wonderful aroma.” He sits across from you and tilts the flute in your direction, taking a sip and closing his eyes.

            “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t drink.”

            “You should, you know. It’s a wonderful escape.”

            “I’m sure you would know, Mr. Alcohol Connoisseur.”

            Oikawa raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing, placing his glass on a nearby polished wood table. “The wedding venue is set for Vaux-le-Vicomte.”

            “France?”

            “It’s a baroque French chateau, yes. Close to Paris, about 55 kilometers away.”

            “Isn’t that really rather lavish?” You blink and pick up your glass, playing with the liquid inside and swirling it to watch it effervesce. “A chateau sounds expensive.”

            “Nothing’s too grand for us, (First Name),” he murmurs as he stares at you over the rim of his champagne flute. “Have you forgotten who we are?” His eyes narrow as he watches you raise the crystal to your lips and take a sip of the golden bubbling aphrodisiac. “Vaux-le-Vicomte  has a hefty price tag, sure, but when you’re of our status, it’s really nothing.”

            You close your eyes and take a big gulp of chardonnay, massaging your temples as you swallow. “We’re in the red.”

            “If you’re worried about finances, I suggest you not. I’ll be picking up the tab.”

            “That’s rather untraditional of you.”

            “Since when have you been caught up in conventional affairs?” He smirks at you. “You’re hardly traditional yourself. Besides, this is a modern era – let’s not get too caught up in the time of our parents, yes?”

            “At least I’m not a weirdo who asks people to get drunk with him.”

            “I wouldn’t want to get drunk with you,” he murmurs. “You seem like the emotional drunk type, anyways – not my favorite kind of drunk to hang out with.”

            You raise your champagne flute to him. “Let’s drink to that, shall we?”

            “Who’s the one asking others to drink with them now, hmm?” He grins cheekily at you and finishes his champagne, getting up to refill his glass. “Would you like some more?”

            “I don’t drink. Much.”

            “You just drank a lot,” he retorts, plucking the crystal out of your fingers and filling it to the brim with sparkling golden alcohol. “Here.”

            You take a sip of the chardonnay and lean back a bit in the plush leather chair.  

            “So, how about that crimson red? It’d look good on you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be harsh with me! I'd love to hear/know your reactions to this piece c: Leave me a kudos or a bookmark on this tale if you liked it~
> 
> Hit me up with a comment to let me know if you're excited for the next part -- if I know people like this story, that motivates me to update even faster!


	4. Insidious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own anything save for the plot and my writing! enjoy, guys! (this is unedited so i apologize in advance for any errors or mis-characterizations on my part)
> 
> [ inspired by exo's recent comeback, 'lotto' - please listen to it while you read! that song motivated me to get off my ass and write this long-overdue chapter lol]

 

>  please listen to 'lotto' while you read this part! you can find it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2q8ds3PwYw).

* * *

            “Crimson red? That’s such a tawdry color.” You play with your glass, running your finger around the rim of your champagne flute. The chardonnay scintillates under the soft, muted lights overhead, and you watch the tiny bubbles rise to the surface.

            “Crimson matches anybody’s skin tone,” he says, cocking his head and watching you through half-lidded eyes. “I don’t think it’s very gaudy at all.”

            “It’d be visible through the wedding dress,” you retort. “The last thing I want is for all my relatives and business partners to see _that_. My mother would be mortified.”

            “Your lingerie can be sheer,” he shrugs, swirling his glass.

            Making a face at him, you sniff at the champagne, take another small gulp, and set it down on the table next to you. You cross your legs and busy yourself arranging the throw pillows around yourself in the soft chair.

            “You don’t like the chardonnay?” He pouts. “I got just for you.”

            “Maybe you should ask me first next time,” you say, setting your jaw in a firm line. “I don’t drink anyways. Thanks.”

            “You just drank a whole flute of champagne just now,” mutters Oikawa. “What a strange girl.”

            You glare at him. “What do you mean by that?”

            “First you say you don’t drink, then you take a big gulp of chardonnay, then you refuse to drink again. Maybe your father was right.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “For someone who’s supposed to take over Laesia and make all the important calls on all global company affairs, you’re sure indecisive. I can see his point now,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

            You begin to rise out of your seat. “I’m not incompetent, you bastard.”

            “I never said you were. I just said indecisive, is all. But if you’re going to get riled up, you should take a drink and calm yourself.” He raises his glass. “To your health.”

            You stare at the brunet. “I don’t need your empty toasts.”

             “But you sure as hell need my money.” He takes a sip of his champagne and raises his eyebrows at you. “Take a seat, (First Name), and have a drink.”

            Huffing, you sit back down in your chair. “I’m not your drinking buddy.”

            “You were more than willing to comply with that earlier.”

            “I was stressed and I needed a drink.”

            “Mhm, and I’m not beautifully handsome and talented. Right. Go on.”

            You bite back a scathing remark and pick up the champagne flute again; eyeing it warily, you bite your lip and watch the effervescent liquid bubble. “I think I’ll pass for today. I’ve had enough alcohol.”

            “If you insist. Shall we continue talking about the venue for our wedding?”

            You roll your eyes. “Vaux-le-Vicomte, near Paris, France, you’re picking up the tab… what else is there to discuss?”

            “I’ll tell you why I chose France for our wedding,” he says, picking up a small, elegantly bound leather brochure and sliding it across the table to you. “That’s the informational booklet on Vaux-le-Vicomte. You should take a look at it.”

            Taking the hefty yet thin glorified pamphlet, you open it and thumb through the pages. Striking HD pictures jump out at you, showing the various angles of the castle. From its lavish symmetrical gardens to its grandiose Baroque architecture all around, the Vaux-le-Vicomte is a sight to behold.

            “France is the perfect place for a wedding, don’t you think? It has that romantic sort of air to it, and we can travel around Europe for our honeymoon. Wouldn’t Paris be lovely?”

            You say nothing as you continue flipping through the pages, your mouth beginning to hang open at all the pictures in the brochure.

            “Of course, the Vaux-le-Vicomte has a bit of a grandeur to it, a charming antiquated grandeur that can’t be replicated. I wanted to reserve Versailles for our wedding, but alas, I couldn’t,” he tuts. “So I had to make do with what I could get.”

            “It’s gorgeous,” you manage to stutter out, gingerly placing the brochure back on the glass coffee table separating the two of you.

            “Thank you, I appreciate it,” he purrs. “Now, I was thinking – about the guest list, we of course have to invite your family and mine. Do you have any close friends? I’ll be inviting mine; I’m sure you’ll want bridesmaids and whatnot to accompany you during the ceremony.”

            “Of course I have close friends,” you snap. “Put them on the guest list.”

            “No offense was intended,” he murmurs, clicking his pen impatiently. “How many?”

            “A few,” you reply.  

            Oikawa raises an eyebrow at your nebulous remark but nods, writing down the number before barreling on with his preparations. “In addition to that, we have to include extended family, and business partners and their families. Who else? Do you have anyone in mind?”

            “Not particularly,” you yawn.

            “Okay then. We’ll make a more in-depth list later, and we’ll get input from your parents if they have any suggestions.”

            “Sounds good to me,” you say, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

            “Moving on, let’s discuss the professionals. We need photographers, entertainment, florists, caterers, and maybe a wedding planner. It’ll be an elaborate affair, after all, full of gentility, and we can’t afford to make a mistake,” Oikawa says, his words succinct and carefully chosen.

            “Go on. I like the idea of a wedding planner,” you murmur, raising a hand to the ceiling and studying your fingers, appreciating the light-dark contrast from the light overhead and watching the shadows play on the back of your hand.

            “For the photographers, I’ve done some research, and…”

            Oikawa’s office is frigid and you can feel the goosebumps on your exposed skin, but you heave a sigh and close your eyes for just a second. A shiver runs through you and provides a fleeting respite from the cold, and you tremble as you wrap your arms around yourself. You hug a pillow to your chest, using it as feeble makeshift protection from the chill of the room. As your fiancé drones on, accompanied by the softly whirring air conditioning, you pretend to listen to his words by nodding and interjecting well-timed grunts of approval. A cloud crosses the sun and the room dims a bit. Your eyelids feel like they’re about to droop shut, and you struggle to stay awake. You can feel yourself drifting off to sleep…

            “(First Name)?”

            You hear a voice but ignore it in favor of the warmth of the soft leather chair.

            “(First Name), wake up.”

            You groan and curl up, hugging your legs to your chest and holding a pillow over all that in a weak attempt to stay warm. All of a sudden, you’re shaken awake by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

            “(First Name), don’t fall asleep on me. That’s rude.”

            “I don’t need your mordant remarks,” you mutter, waving a weary hand in his direction.

            “Do you need a nap already? It’s only 9pm.”

            “How long have I been asleep for…? I’m tired, so just let me sleep, Oikawa…”

            “I didn’t know I was marrying a pseudo-grandma. You’ve been asleep for an hour or so,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and looking down at your curled form.

            “I’m not a grandma. You’re the old one here, old man,” you mutter, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “What have you been doing for the past hour? Watching me sleep? What a perv.”

            “If I’m an old man and you’re marrying me, then that makes you an old woman then, doesn’t it?” He smirks. “In my defense, I had work to do. I have more important things to do than to watch you sleep. Let’s get coffee since you can’t seem to stay awake.”

            “I’m pretty comfy here, so I think I’ll pass,” you say, shaking your head.

            “You can’t sleep in my office,” he clucks. “The café has nice sweets. I’ll buy you a cake.”

            “I like macarons…”

            “I’ll get you a French macaron then,” he says, standing with his arms akimbo as he stares at you. “Get up and move, lazy girl.”

            “(Favorite fruit flavor).”

            “Excuse me?”

            “It has to be (favorite fruit flavor) flavored,” you murmur, standing shakily and tottering your way towards the door.

            Oikawa bites back a laugh as he follows you, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

—

            You sit across from your fiancé in a small booth. “This place is… not what I expected.”

            The atmosphere is nice, with a soft, off-white interior lit up by faerie lights strewn across the walls and similarly styled canvas lights hanging from the ceiling. The staff don’t seem hurried, and the cakes in the display shine brightly in the center, near the register. A mellifluous melody floats through the café, and the air is rich with the scent of sweet confectionaries. The night sky is dotted with stars, and they’re visible through the strategically placed skylight in the center of the café.

            “What did you expect?”

            “Something much fancier. This is a regular café.”

            Oikawa quirks an eyebrow at you.

            “I mean, it’s really cute and simple, and I guess it’s on the high-end side of cafes since it has that fancy skylight, but it’s not what I would expect from you. I pinned you as more of a suit-and-tie, formal restaurant kind of guy, you know? This looks like a café I’d go to with my friends.” You eye the people around you, seeing families seated around a small table and couples making goo-goo eyes at each other – you gag at the latter – as well as people curled up in appropriately placed cushioned chairs, scrolling through some website on their computers or phones.

            “I don’t know, I come here a lot,” he says.

            A young man comes up to your table and bows, a flop of brown hair falling into his eyes. “Hello, my name is Shigeru and I will be your waiter today. What can I get for you?”

            “Oh, Yahaba, it’s your shift today?”

            “Tooru?” The waiter’s eyes dart from you to your fiancé, then back to you again. “Y-Yes, it is. Do you want your usual?”

            “Yeah. I think I’ll take a milk bread, too.”

            “Hungry, hm?” Yahaba smiles and jots down Oikawa’s order, then turns to you. “What would you like, milady?”

            “I’ll take three (favorite fruit flavor) macarons and a (favorite coffee drink), please.”

            The waiter takes your menus and nods. “Your order will be out promptly.” He hurries away.

            “The waiters know you by name and order, huh, old man,” you state flatly, eyeing the brunet sitting across from you.

            Oikawa ignores the jibe and smiles pleasantly at you. “I frequent this place. Anyways, (First Name), can I make a request of you?”

            You narrow your eyes. “Depends on what the request is.”

            “Can we start over from the beginning?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Like… start over and get to know each other like a normal couple.”

            You stiffen. “Making quips about my lingerie color is hardly what I’d call normal, much less trying to seduce me at a _very public_ ball.”

            “I want to start from a clean slate.” He laughs a bit, rubbing the back of his head. “Can’t you give it a shot?”

            “No can do,” you say, shaking your head briskly. “You’ve ruined your chances already.”

            “Here are your orders!” Yahaba places an espresso and a nicely wrapped milk bread in front of Oikawa, and your three macarons and coffee in front of you. “Please, enjoy. I’ll put it on your tab, Tooru.”

            “Thanks, Yahaba,” your fiancé says, waving him away.

            You stare at the three macarons, all having diameters close to two or three inches. “These are big macarons…”

            You finish a macaron, and there’s silence between the two of you for the next five.

            “Come on, (First Name), can’t we try it out?”

            “If you’re talking about starting over,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee, “the answer is and always will be a resounding _no._ ”

            “Why not?”

            “Like I said, you had your chance to take it slow, and you ruined it from the get-go.” You drain your cup, wrap your remaining two macarons in a napkin, and stand. “Thanks for the coffee. I have to go.”

            “(First Name), you can’t hate me forever. Since we’re going to get married, why don’t we at least try to get along?”

            “I wonder what caused you to have a sudden change in heart. Regardless, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you started doing stupid things.” You’re reluctant to shut him down the way you do, especially since you concede and want to start over from the beginning, but your obdurate nature just won’t let you. You have a certain pride to maintain – a hubris of sorts.

            “If you refuse to start over, at least let me give you this.” He hands you a small white box with a simple and clean exterior. “Open it when you get home.”

—

You enter your room, throwing your jacket on your bed and eyeing the gift sticking out of your jacket pocket. Caving to your curiosity, you gingerly open it – inside is a thin silver chain with a small ruby dangling on one end. The necklace is short, meant to be worn in a choker-esque manner, but it’s a versatile piece of jewelry and it’s rather elegant. The accessory likely cost a pretty penny.

You rub your temples, feeling a headache come on at the mere thought of your obnoxious fiancé. Deciding to ditch the formal office blouse you’ve been wearing all day, you shrug into more appropriate attire, the clothing thin and tight against your form. Pulling a leather jacket over your outfit, you grab your purse and your phone as you head out.

—

            You stand outside of a bar, staring up at the neon sign. “The AOBAJOU bar,” you read aloud. “What kind of name is that?” Shaking your head, you walk in and take a seat at the bar.

            “Can I help you?” A young man cleaning a glass comes up to you and smiles. “What would you like?”

            “A Bourbon, neat.”

            “Coming right up.” He makes the drink and sets it before you. “What brings you here tonight?”

            “I’m drinking to overcome my sorrows,” you say flatly, taking the glass and downing the whole thing. The alcohol is fiery and burns your throat as it goes down, but it banishes your headache and numbs your senses. You like the tingly feeling it gives you.  

            “The name’s Iwaizumi.”

            “(First Name),” you reply. “Can I get something else?”

            “What would you like?”

            “Surprise me.”

            He takes your glass and takes a few minutes to make your drink. You slump over in your chair, head resting in your arms as you wait for your alcohol.

            Iwaizumi sets it before you. “A Brandy Old Fashioned cocktail on the rocks.”

            You play with the drink, swirling it around in the cup and watching the ice clink against the glass. “Hey, Iwaizumi, can I complain to you?”

            “I’m a bartender. People complain to me all the time.”

            “I’ll take that as a yes, so here goes. Today I met with my fiancé and he was just being a bastard to me.”

            “You want to marry a guy who’s a bastard to you?” Iwaizumi glances at you dubiously as he shakes a cocktail shaker.

            “It’s an arranged marriage. So we’ve barely known each other for a week and he asks me this really personal question and it makes him seem like a pervert, and I get pissed at him, right? But then he starts asking me about the wedding because that’s what I’m there for – wedding planning, that is. And he actually was… kind of tolerable? During the planning part, that is.”

            “What’s this guy’s name?”

            “Oikawa.”

            Iwaizumi stiffens for a second but plays it off. “Okay.”

            “Anyways, he starts asking me about wedding plans, like the guest list and stuff, and it makes me feel like he’s actually not that bad of a guy. Granted, he insulted me by calling me indecisive and questioning my management skills, but he was pretty tolerable towards the end.” You take a sip of your brandy.

            “What happened then?” The bartender pours out another drink and hands it to another customer. “Do you like him now?”

            “Oh, hell no, of course not. He’s a complete bastard. But he’s not that much of a bastard, I guess. But I fell asleep and he woke me up after watching me sleep for an hour like an old pervert.”

            Iwaizumi snickers and mutters under his breath, “I can see that happening.”

            You don’t hear his snide remark as you down the rest of your cocktail and slide it to him. “Anyways, he wakes me up and we go out to this little café place. It’s really cute, but what he said kind of irks me.”

            “What’d he say?” Iwaizumi hands you your filled glass.

            You stare down at your cocktail and watch the outside of the glass bead with water. “He said he wanted to start over. From the beginning. And act or be like a normal couple. It was weird.”

            “What do you mean by ‘normal couple’?”

            “We’re in an arranged marriage, but he came on too strong in the beginning. I refused his request, though – he crossed a line, you know? Some things can’t be undone,” you say, downing the rest of your cocktail and gesturing for Iwaizumi to refill your cup.

            “Maybe you should slow down there,” he eyes your glass. “Isn’t that your third refill?”

            “I think I’m fine. I can hold my alcohol.”

            “If you say so,” he murmurs, taking your glass and refilling it again. “But people tend to put away a lot of these cocktails without realizing how much alcohol is actually in them.”

            “I said I’ll be fine, but thanks for the concern,” you laugh, slurring your words a bit.

            He looks at you but obliges. “If you insist. Anything else you want to complain about?”

            “You’re a guy, right, Iwaizumi?” You stare at the bartender, who nods in response. “Why would my fiancé say something like that? Isn’t that weird? I can’t figure him out. He’s concerned one moment and a complete asshole the next. I don’t even know why we’re arranged to be married – I can’t see how he’s benefiting from this, and it confuses me.” You slump over on the bar counter, your head in your arms for the second time this night; the lights overhead seem to be shining brighter than before and they worsen the headache you had momentarily just drowned in alcohol.

            “Maybe he really just wants a fresh start,” the bartender says. “He seems like a really capricious guy, though, and he sounds as inflexible as they get. But you should give it a try – there’s nothing to lose, or at least that’s what it sounds like.”

            You swirl your cocktail, the sound of ice clinking against the glass mitigating the pounding of your head and the physical coolness of the drink soothing your heated skin. Your head spins and you can hear how slurred your words are getting, but you can’t be bothered to do anything about it. “I’m not sure if I want to start over, though. He’s been such an asshole up until now that I don’t know if I want to give him another chance.”

            “Isn’t he your fiancé? You’ll have to live with him, so why not make it a pleasant experience?”

            You have no response and instead watch the ice in your drink begin to melt. Taking a swig of alcohol, you finish your drink before all the ice disappears and waters down the flavor.

            “I need to take this call,” Iwaizumi nods to you, waving his phone in the air. “I’ll be back.” He leaves you at the bar counter and exits the room for a bit.

—

            “Hello?”

            “Shittykawa, get your ass over here right now.”

            “Iwaizumi? What’s wrong?”

            “Your fiancée’s sitting at my bar right now. She’s had like four cocktails already, and while she says she can hold her alcohol, I doubt it.”

            There’s silence on Oikawa’s end as he sits down on a chair, unsure of how to respond. A few moments pass.

            “Trashykawa, did you hear me? Get your ass over here and pick up your girlfriend. You’re the reason why she’s drinking.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha my history is full of different types of alcoholic drinks rip i hope my mom doesn't find it
> 
> Please don't be harsh with me! I'd love to hear/know your reactions to this piece c: Leave me a kudos or a bookmark on this tale if you liked it~ Hit me up with a comment to let me know if you're excited for the next part -- if I know people like this story, that motivates me to update even faster!

**Author's Note:**

> i had to go and look up different types of cologne, suit/tux terminology, etc online -- i swear i'm not getting married. i'm just looking at this wedding site for inspiration, i promise!! ;; i got the description of cologne from [this](http://elitedaily.com/envision/top-10-colognes-double-chick-magnets/) website -- it's #3, tom ford black orchid. it seemed like something player!oikawa would wear lmao
> 
> Please don't be harsh with me! I'd love to hear/know your reactions to this piece c: Leave me a kudos or a bookmark on this tale if you liked it~ Hit me up with a comment to let me know if you're excited for the next part -- if I know people like this story, that motivates me to update even faster!


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